A Series of Angsty Events
by happycabbage
Summary: A collection of assorted Harry Potter one-shots of different themes, but primarily dramas. May involve violence, angst, slash, character death, etc. The first 6 used to be posted as seperate stories.
1. Cry For Me

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.

Hello everyone! I am sorry to say that this is not a full update! I am trying to clean up my account, starting with placing all my Harry Potter one-shots under one story as separate chapters, a sort of one-shot series. I have, edited this first one so it doesn't suck so bad as it did.

Title: Cry For Me

Summary: After being found out as a spy by Voldemort, Snape spends his last living moments accepting comfort from an unexpected source.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKRowling. I am not her, unfortunately.

Content: Angst/hurt/comfort. Language, violence, gore, and character death. Barest hints of slash. Set a few years after Order of the Phoenix. Non-HBP

* * *

I honestly didn't think they'd actually come. The Order, while I knew most of them respected me, did not exactly treat me warmly. I doubt my anti-social tendencies helped much. We had a sort of happy medium, a mutual unspoken agreement: They left me alone, and I never gave them reason to pay much attention to me, unless I was giving a report. So it really was actually sort of heart-warming that they all cared enough to show up.

The Dark Lord had found me out three weeks before. His sick, twisted brain came up with the brilliant idea of torturing me mercilessly for a few weeks before killing me. He also thought it might be funny to kill me in front of the people I had died to help. To show me, and them, just how weak and pathetic and _helpless_ we actually were, how powerless to stop him.

So he sent them an invitation.

He invited the whole Order to come and meet him. He told them he had something of theirs that he was going to give back, though he didn't promise it to be in the same condition it was when he found it. The thing to be returned? Me, of course.

I was actually surprised I had made it this far. I honestly though that the Dark Lord would have found me out long before this. Every time I was summoned to the Dark Lord's side, my breath was stolen away, blood pounding through my veins as if trying to burst through my very skin. I knew what he did with those who crossed him better perhaps, than any of the Order ever could. I had been trapped in his sick little world, wrought with black magic and built with blood and poison-honey words, since I was sixteen. I've never forgiven Black or Potter for driving me into the welcoming arms of my most powerfully terrifying tormentor.

The Dark Lord had asked me a question during that last meeting, which I happened to answer wrongly, much to his…displeasure. Occlumency was not enough to stop him this time. Suspicious and paranoid and painstakingly observant as he was, and he managed to find the smallest flaw in my shields. It was not enough to let him through, but enough to learn that I was, in fact, shielding my mind at all.

Even more displeased at discovering my use of Occlumency against him, he started torturing me. I remember swearing to myself that I would not give him the pleasure of hearing me scream, only to have the other half of my mind point out that I was already doing so. Oh, so that's what that loud noise was. While my defenses were down, he used legillimency. In my agony, I couldn't concentrate long enough to throw off the spell. He saw. He knew. And from that moment, I knew I was dead.

He dropped the Cruciatus, staring at me in silence for a few moments as I lay panting on the floor. Then he spoke.

"He dies."

The Death Eaters tightened in around me, watching me hungrily like wolves, or sharks. Some of them started to reach for their wands, others had them already drawn. But the Dark Lord stopped them, saying he had a better idea. I was thrown into a dingy cell in the dungeon at Malfoy Manor, where the meeting was being held, to await my fate.

Three weeks later, the Death Eaters readied for battle. Really the only intent of this mission was to deliver me, or at least, my remains, to the Order. But they were ready to fight should the Order attack.

I was gagged and bound, and they levitated me out of my cell. We met Voldemort in the War Room of Malfoy Manor that the Dark Lord had had Lucius set aside for meetings. I was forced to my knees in front of the Dark Lord so he could play with me once last time before he returned me. It hurt. A lot.

Finally, after a few more unbelievably long hours of torture, the Death Eaters apparated to the appointed meeting spot. I was side-apparated with Malfoy Sr and Macnair. They kept such a tight hold on my arms, I couldn't feel my hands. Not that that was a bad thing by this point. With how mangled they were, and what I knew was coming, I didn't I want to feel anything at all.

We stood waiting for a few moments, then they came. The Order actually came. I almost wept at the sight of them. Almost. Even this close to my inevitable death, I tried my best to retain some pride and dignity, what little of it I had left.

Swiftly, I took into account who all was there. Who had cared enough. There, in the middle of the surprisingly large group was the headmaster. Of course he would have come. To his left in the front row (several others were behind them, but I couldn't see their faces) stood Moody, Lupin, and the four eldest Weasleys. On his right stood Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Tonks, Vance, Fletcher, Potter…wait, what?

_Potter?_ Why was _he_ here? Firstly, the boy was only seventeen, and not yet out of school. Why would Dumbledore let him come on an Order mission? Secondly, why in the name of Merlin had the boy _agreed_ to come?

"Ah, Dumbledore," The Dark Lord said, drawing my attention from the boy. "I'm glad you made it. Oh, no," he laughed as several Order members directed their wands at him, "No, I'm not here to fight with you. I just found something that I believe is yours." He sounded like someone returning a dropped quill or something. "You would like it back, wouldn't you?"

"Where is he, Tom?" Dumbledore asked calmly. From where I was positioned, none of the Order members could see me yet. The Dark Lord chuckled.

"A man who knows what he wants," The Dark Lord said, almost gleeful now. "Right! Bring the traitor forth, my _faithful_ servants." Malfoy and Macnair tightened their hold and dragged me (my legs couldn't even support my weight anymore) forward next to the Dark Lord. They dropped me at his feet and stepped back into the ranks of Death Eaters. I tried to look as though I wasn't hurt too badly, for my image's sake, but I knew I was failing miserably. I knew how I looked to my colleagues.

I was beaten, bloodied, and broken, a dirty rag tied around my head and thrust into my mouth so I couldn't speak, my hands twisted up behind my back and tied. My hair was greasy, even for me, tangled and matted from my three weeks in captivity. If there was a spot on my skin that wasn't black, blue, and covered with blood and grime, I myself had yet to find it.

I could hear my colleagues, my…friends, gasp in shock and dismay at my appearance. I looked up at them, trying to glare but, once again, failing miserably.

My eyes met the emerald green ones of Potter, and I was surprised by his expression. Rather than the shock, horror, and that cursed _pity_ like on the other Order members faces, his expression was one of great sadness, of grief and pain.

And…was that…heartache?

"So, what do you think?" The Dark Lord sounded like a child expecting praise from a parent for doing well on a test. Potter looked away from me, now staring with unadulterated fury and complete loathing at the Dark Lord.

"Severus…" I heard the Headmaster say faintly. He stirred and looked hardly at the Dark Lord. "Give him back, Tom." Yeah, right. Like he would just hand me over. "Alright." See, Dumbledore? I told you he wouldn't…wait a minute…

"Sure, I'll give him back. Of course!" I didn't like the tone of his voice. It was the slightly giddy one he used whenever he was about to Avada Kedavra some defenseless muggle or muggle born. I really didn't like where this was going. "Wormtail!" the snivelling traitor crept forth from his place at the back of the group of Death Eaters.

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Untie our present for the Order of the Phoenix, would you?"

"Yes, m'lord." He stepped forward and used a severing charm to cut the ropes that bound my wrists together, then loosened the knot on the rag and slipped the gag out of my mouth. He pulled me to my feet and I stood as Wormtail, like Malfoy and Macnair before him, drew back into the crowd of the Dark Lord's followers. I was swaying slightly. No! I refused to fall! I wouldn't! I…would. I fell to my hands and knees, and the Death Eaters laughed.

"No, no, Severus," the Dark Lord said laughing. "Stand! Stay standing strong, next to your true master!" He laughed again, and kicked me, striking a blow to my side, sprawling me forward in the mud, Death Eaters laughing again. The Order members winced, but none stood forward to help me. The Death Eaters all had their wands leveled directly at me. If one of them stepped forward to help me, I would be dead sooner than they could reach me. I had to try and reach them. I pulled myself to my feet once more.

"Oh, Sev-er-us!" The Dark Lord called in a sing-song voice after me. I stopped and stiffened when I heard his voice behind me. "I have something for you before we go and leave you with your friends."

I turned my head and looked back at him just in time to watch him flick his wand at me, sending forward a jet of violet light, laughing maniacally as the spell hit me.

The pain was excruciating. I could feel my organs spilling out of the gory gaping hole that used to be my stomach. The spell was gutting me like a fish, flaying me alive.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The broken, pain filled scream made me look up even as I lay dying. I knew I wouldn't pass out from the pain. The Dark Lord would've seen to that, wanting me to suffer for my last moments.

I looked up at the Order to see Tonks, Lupin, and Shacklebolt restraining a near hysterical Potter. He was trying to get to me, his face horror-struck. It was he who had screamed.

"NO! NO! LET ME GO!" but they didn't let go. Potter's eyes locked with mine, panicked Avada Kedavra green boring into my own mystified black. His anguished face contorted into rage and his struggles grew wilder as he swung to face the Dark Lord. "TOM! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! I SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Well, my work here is done," the Dark Lord said smugly, giving us all an evil grin as he and his Death Eaters disapparated.

The Order members holding Potter released him and he threw himself over to where I lay on the ground. The others followed swiftly and stopped a few feet away from me, only Lupin, McGonagall, and Dumbledore coming to kneel by my side.

I barely noticed them, however, my hazy attention still locked on Potter. He practically flung himself down in the bloody mud next to me. "Professor Snape, sir…oh dammit! This isn't how it's supposed to be! DAMMIT!" He angrily pounded the ground, splattering a puddle of blood and mud and my gory innards all over his robes. Something seemed to break in him then, and his head bowed down, breaking our eye contact. A shudder broke over the teen like a wave. "Dammit…I should've stopped him. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He choked on the words and his hand slid over to grasp mine, slick with mess.

I stared at him, feeling light-headed and slightly numb from blood loss and confusion. Or was I confused because of the light-headed numbness? I watched with weak incredulity as he shuddered again and something dripped down to the ground under his face. It looked like rain, pure and clear and clean as it fell only to blend into the filth spread over the ground around my body and disappear. Other raindrops followed. Typical. Just my luck that I would end up having one of those drawn-out tragically melodramatic deaths, complete with rain. I vaguely wondered why it was only raining near Potter.

I tried to say something, to growl at Potter to stop that whimpering, after all, I was the one dying, not him. But the words were interrupted before they could even form when I coughed, feeling the blood rise and bubble in my throat, and suddenly I was saying something else without realizing it. "You swear…?"

He looked up at my words; the mud splashed on his face was streaked from the rain. "What?" he choked out. I frowned. Damn him! His pathetic emotional breakdowns were what caused half of the trouble he got into. I wanted to scream at him to man up already, but I vaguely knew in the back of my head that time was short.

"You swear…" I managed to slur "That he'll die next…"

I saw his eyes harden. "I swear I'll kill him." Then he blinked, and his seething determination was followed by a ghost of terror. He was a Gryffindor, though, it wasn't a fear of facing danger. It was a fear of becoming dangerous. A fear that he could so resolutely swear death for another human, as perverse and deranged and evil as that human may be, and actually follow through with it.

My vision was starting to blur, like I was underwater. Damn that rain. I wanted to see, to look Potter in the eye. I needed…

Needed to tell him…

The hand he wasn't holding strained and weakly lifted to flop near him, and he caught it with his other hand. My breath came in ragged gasps at the exertion…so tired now…not yet!

With a last burst of energy, I swung my hand up until it smacked against Potter's cheek as hard as I could…which admittedly wasn't that hard. Somehow his startled face barely swam into view over me. I glared. "Not him…"

He looked confused and I struggled to clarify. "You're…not'im…" I saw comprehension dawn and relaxed, my hand slipping down from where it lay against his cheek only to be caught in a warm hand, smaller than mine and callused. He drew both my hands up to him, holding them against his face. His skin felt so warm.

I could feel my heart slowing down. I had little more than a few seconds left to live…

I felt more drops fall down and land on my knuckles, and just barely managed to get out a slurred, "'s rainin'…"

His skin felt so warm on mine…

* * *

End.

Oh I like the new ending MUCH better now. :D

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.


	2. He Deserved It

Title: He Deserved It

Summary: There are too many shades of grey for any person to be purely evil. Guilt, regret, grief, and sorrow can eat at you until you reach your breaking point

Disclaimer: Do you honestly think J. would waste her time writing fanfics for her own stories?

Content: Angst/Family. Language, violence,

* * *

Bellatrix hurried along the corridor of Riddle Manor to the room that her Lord had so graciously given her and her husband, Rodolphus. She wrung her hands as she stalked down the hall, hunched over slightly. Her breathing was hitched and heavy, and her widened eyes sparkled with unshed tears as they darted back and forth feverishly.

She came to her and her husband's rooms and went in, slamming the door shut and locking it with the strongest charm she could think of before leaning heavily against it.

Presently her feet slid out from under her and she slid to the floor, gasping and sobbing. Her long tangled black hair seemed to curtain her face as she drew thin, pale, trembling hands up to cover her eyes.

Just returning from his latest little escapade with the damned Boy-Who-Lived, her Lord had thrown the largest tantrum. He had been so angry, he had thrown every hex, jinx, curse, and China knick-knack he could think of. His plan had been flawless, but it failed regardless, his prize Death Eaters outsmarted by a bunch of schoolkids! The prophecy was smashed, the boy escaped, and Nott, Mulciber, Jugson, Dolohov, Macnair, Avery, Crabbe, Rookwood, her husband Rodolphus, and her brother-in-laws Lucius and Rabastan, all of them had been captured.

And she had killed her cousin.

She hadn't always hated Sirius. In fact, she never had. She had been angry with him, been hurt by him, but she never hated her cousin. But her obedience to her Lord came first, and Cousin Siri had tried to stop her.

He knew very well that if she didn't follow his orders she would be killed. He must have wanted her to die! He thought that if he fought her, she would be unable to bring herself to hurt her cousin, and the Dark Lord would kill her for it. Betrayal swept through her at the thought. Sirius was a bad boy; he had hurt his mama's feelings when he turned against the family. It had been his own fault that he'd died.

Bellatrix drew her knees close to her chest and wept as she thought of memories long since past.

* * *

"Aw, don't cry Bella!"

Little six-year-old Bellatrix gave a mighty sniffle as she hugged the torn remains of her Pegasus doll to her. Sirius, eight-years-old at the time, crouched next to her.

"Lemme see how bad it is, Bella," Sirius said, gently pulling the doll away from her. She relinquished the toy with another sniff as a tear rolled down her cheek. Sirius examined the stuffed animal carefully, taking in how it's wings had been ripped off and it's head had apparently been given part of the same treatment, twisted and wrung so tightly that the cloth on the neck had started to tear.

"Lemme guess," Sirius said drily, "Narcissa did this?"

Bella nodded sadly, her dark brown eyes huge in her head and shimmery with tears. "'Cissy said," she whispered, "She said I was too big for a toy anymore, and pointed her wand at Peggy, and said something like 'diffidil' or 'defido' – "

"Diffindo," Siri said, turning over the toy in his hands. "It's a cutting spell. Don't worry, Bella, 'Cissa just thinks she's better'n us 'cause she's started Hogwarts already. She's a brat, is all."

He stood up straight and grabbed her hand, pulling her over to the house. "C'mon, Bella. Let's go to my room, and I'll fix Peggy."

He led her inside and the two young children tiptoed quietly past the kitchen, where they could hear Sirius' father and Bella's father arguing again. No doubt it would once again lead to a duel between the two brothers, which would most likely take place in the same bare dirt yard where Siri and Bella had been playing not five minutes before.

Siri dragged them up the stairs to his room and ushered Bella inside. He shut the door quietly and made her sit on the bed and hold her broken toy. He started to crawl under the bed, but stopped at Bella's fearful voice.

"Don't go down there Siri! There are monsters that'll eat you!" She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. Sirius just laughed.

"Don't worry, Bella, the monsters don't come out during the day. And any monster I see, I'll eat them first before they can eat me!" He grinned at her and started ducked under, searching around for something. He talked to her while he looked for whatever it was, letting her know that he was okay and a monster hadn't eaten him, making her smile and laugh little even as she still sniffled over her damaged doll.

"Ah, here it is!" Siri said. His hand appeared on the topside of the bed first, then the rest of him followed after. In his hand he clutched a small wooden box. She stared at it with the endearing curiosity that only a child can manage.

"What's that, Siri?"

He opened it to reveal several different colored threads, differently sized needles, a small tape measure, and a pincushion full of pins. "It's a sewing kit. Dad say's it's womens' pastimes and house-elf's work, but I think it comes in handy for stuff like this."

He took a long thin needle and selected some silvery thread that just matched the colour of Peggy's fur and wings. Bella watched in fascination as he threaded the needle, toungue between his teeth, his expression one of utmost concentration. The needle threaded, he took Peggy from Bella gently, and set to work stitching her wings back on.

Bella smiled at her lap, swinging her legs off the side of the high bed. Siri was so nice to her, so warm and kind, very unlike her older sister Narcissa. In fact, he reminded her of her oldest sister, Andromeda. Sirius was so cool. She wanted to be just like him when she grew up.

* * *

"He _WHAT_?"

Nine-year-old Bellatrix stopped dead next to her aunt and uncle's bedroom door. Siri had just left for Hogwarts two days before, and she missed him terribly. She quietly pressed an ear to the door to listen. Her suspicions that they were speaking about him were confirmed a moment later.

"You heard me," came her uncle's angry voice on the other side of the closed door. "Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor somehow."

"That is ridiculous."

"It's in the letter from that idiotic headmaster."

"This can't be happening. I know that there was something different about that child, but there must be some kind of mistake. Blacks don't go into Gryffindor. It's sacrilege!"

"I'll go send a letter to the headmaster demanding a re-sort – "

"And I'll send the little runt something to teach him a lesson," continued Siri's mother nastily.

The two voices stopped and Bella hurried away as she heard footsteps coming to the door.

* * *

Bella sat trembling at the Slytherin table during breakfast. It was her first week of classes at Hogwarts. She had already been there for a few days. By now, her parents would have been given a letter informing them where she had been Sorted.

Remembering what had happened when Siri was Sorted, she was frightened. She knew that his parents had been displeased because he had been Sorted into Gryffindor, but she couldn't help but feel anxious that she wouldn't meet her own parents' expectations. She didn't want be the only First Year to get a Howler their first week. Siri had been during his first year, all because he had Sorted into the wrong house.

The mail owls swooped into the room, and she shivered uncontrallably. Her eyes searched for Sirius at the Gryffindor table. She found him, but he was busy speaking to a pair of boys, one slender with messy black hair and glasses and the other sickly-looking with light brown hair and amber eyes. A third boy, tiny and mousy, sat tentatively on the edge of the group. Sirius didn't look up.

A large black owl detached from the flock and landed in front of her, almost in her breakfast. She looked at it in horror for a moment before it hooted softly in reassurance. She was happy to see that the parcel it bore was not the recognizable red envelope of a Howler.

She took the letter from the owl and opened it as he flew off immediately, quickly reading through it. A smile of relief slowly spread across her face as she read the letter, a simple congratulations on making Slytherin and a warning to keep up in her studies and do the Black family proud.

* * *

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Bellatrix shrieked as she rose up in the air quite suddenly, dropping all her bags and packages from her first trip to Hogsmeade with the other third years. The fifth year grinned lazily as he reached down to the ground and picked up her wand, which she had dropped with everything else.

"Put me down, Potter!" she demanded.

"Why?" he asked simply, grinning wickedly at his torment of the little Slytherin third year.

"Why? Why?! How dare you! You've no right to treat people this way!"

James just laughed, as did several other students, mostly Gryffindors, walking up the path back to Hogwarts around them as they stopped to watch. Suddenly a voice familiar to Bellatrix and James alike rose above the crowd.

"James, what…? " the crowd parted as Sirius made his way through. He stopped suddenly when his eyes fell on his younger cousin and his best friend. James grinned in delight.

"Care to join me, Sirius?" He said lightheartedly. Sirius blinked then turned his gaze to James. He could tell that his best friend fully expected him to join in on the fun.

"James, stop it." The grin faded slowly off James' face.

"Padfoot, what…"

"You heard me. Put her down."

There was no sound. The crowd of students watched with bated breath. James looked curiously at his friend, then at Bellatrix, and back again. The smile returned. Slightly mocking this time.

"Ohhh, I get it," he said, "You want me to leave her alone because she's your dear younger cousin, correct."

"Yes James. I want you to leave my cousin alone." Sirius said simply.

James' grin became icy and fixed. "Are you sure about that, Sirius?"

James' tone was frigid, and Sirius took a step back uncertainly. He glanced around at the crowd. The other students stared at Sirius, their gazes cold. When his housemate said nothing, James continued. "You want the little Slytherin left alone, is that it? Just because she's family."

"Yes," Sirius said, looking distressed. "Just – just put her down Prongs."

"You hear that, Slythie?" James said, whipping his head around to sneer at Bellatrix. "It's because you're family. He's doing it out of a twisted sense of duty."

"Wait, James, that's not what I –"

"Not what, Siri?" James cut him off. "Not what you meant? You mean, it's not because of family? You'd do it for anyone, whether they were family or not? You really do care about slimey little Slythies?"

Sirius said nothing, just stared at his friend, mouth opening and closing.

"Have you no Gryffindor pride, Sirius, that you defend the little mini-Death Eaters?" James stared at him, eyes glittering coldly. Sirius looked at Bellatrix, then at James, then at the silent spectators. He glanced back at his friend once more and turned around, shoving his way through the crowd as he went back the way he came.

James smiled coldly and turned his attention back to Bellatrix. "You see? He doesn't really care. So I suppose he won't mind if I just play a little game with you," he said as though he was giving her a treat.

Bellatrix whimpered in fear as James levitated her higher and higher from the ground. She could see Sirius watching from behind a tree, a lone tear rolling down his cheek. Their eyes locked. His were full of anguish, torn between his family and his friends. Hers were full of hurt, and she blinked through her tears of betrayal.

_You won't help him, but you won't stop him either? _she asked him brokenheartedly from inside her mind.

_Why won't you help me?_

* * *

Bellatrix stood in the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place, her back against the wall. Next to her stood her cousin Regulus. He was the same age as her, but they had never been very close. She liked the more charismatic Sirius better, and Regulus was the type of boy who still believed in Cooties, even at age fourteen. Despite their usual disassociation with one another, they stood united for now, met in a truce so as to survive their current dangerous and unfortunate occupation: spectators to a row between Sirius and his mum.

"I'M SO SICK OF THIS SHIT! WE ARE NOT ROYALTY, MUM!"

"WE MIGHT AS WELL BE! HOW DARE YOU DISHONOUR THE NAME OF BLACK BY ASSOCIATING WITH MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS! THE SHAME YOU HAVE BROUGHT UPON THIS FAMILY THUS FAR HAS SURPASSED THAT OF ANY FAMILY MEMBER TO DATE!"

"WELL, I'M GLAD I'LL BE REMEMBERED FOR SOMETHING! CONSIDERING 'THIS FAMILY' CONSISTS OF EVERY INBRED PUREBLOOD IN EXISTENCE, AT LEAST I'LL BE NOTICEABLE!"

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT SUCH AN UNGRATEFUL, MUGGLE-LOVING, BLOOD-TREACHEROUS LITTLE BRAT WAS BORN OF MY FLESH! YOU ARE A CURSE UPON THIS FAMILY!"

"BETTER THAT THAN A MEMBER!"

Sirius' mum stared at him in shock at that. "How dare you…" she hissed under her breath.

"I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! I DON'T GIVE A BLOODY SHIT! FUCK YOU TO BLOODY HELL AND BACK, YOU STUPID BITCH!"

Mrs. Black's eyes bulged as she reached clawed fingers out to her son, forgetting her wand entirely as she tried to find his neck to strangle him. Sirius, however, did not forget, and before she knew what had happened, he had pulled his wand out and hit her with a powerful Stunning Spell, quickly followed up with a full Body-bind.

Before anyone else could react, Sirius had bolted out of the room and leaped up the stairs two at a time.

Too scared to move from where they stood and risk another explosion, Regulus and Bellatrix remained motionless. They listened to several loud thumps coming from Sirius' room on the second floor, then a series of banging as he dragged his trunk back down the stairs.

They watched motionless as Sirius dragged his trunk past his mother lying bound up on the floor over to the kitchen fireplace, where he stopped and stood the trunk up on it's end. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it onto the fire. Crying out, "Potter residence!" Sirius Black stepped through the flashing green flames without a backward glance.

* * *

Bellatrix hung limply in the grip of the Dementors as they led her through the halls of Azkaban Prison. The moans and screams of the prisoners around her filled her ears, but she didn't hear them. She heard herself. Crying alone after being Marked and raped by the Dark Lord.

The doors to the cells passed by in a blur as she passed them. The other prisoners stood close to the doors eyes hollow and open as they stared past the bars at the new inmate being led to their doom in the bowels of Hell on earth. She could not see them, wrapped up in the memories of her cursed life as a Death Eater that were flashing through her mind. One set of eyes caught her own, pulling her out of her worst memory, comforting her as they always did before.

Bellatrix and Sirius stared at each other from opposite sides of the bars as the Dementors led her past his cell.

* * *

Bellatrix fell to the floor in her room at Riddle manor, only a few hours after she had murdered her beloved, blood traitor cousin Sirius. She curled into a ball on the floor in the darkened room as sobs racked through her emaciated frame.

A whisper of guilt, regret, and horror stroked her blackened soul. She tried to push the emotions away, to spare herself the pain. She tried so hard to think of everything Sirius had done against her and the family.

"He deserved it!" she whispered to herself, fighting the panic and self-loathing as she tried to justify her actions to herself.

* * *

End story.

That's all. It's done. Thanks for listening to me ramble.

-Happycabbage

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.


	3. Game Night

Title: Game Night

Summary: Because even the bad guys need some time off...

Disclaimer: I'm a klepto. So sue me. The real owner of Harry Potter is J.. This fic is based on a radio program thingy done by Doctor Demento, some weird radio guy. Some of the dialogue in this was taken directly from that.

Content: Humor/Randomosity. Language, indirect violence, sexual references, and some really. Weird. Shit.

* * *

Severus walked swiftly down to the boundary of the wards surrounding Hogwarts, pulling his Death Eater mask on as he ran. He really didn't want to be late. That would make the Dark Lord very unhappy with him, and he didn't want to miss any of this meeting either.

He reached the edge of the wards and immediately apparated to the graveyard of Little Hangleton. From there he swiftly made his way up the hill to the old Riddle Mansion.

Praying he wasn't too late, he went up to the door and, taking a deep breath to prepare himself, threw it open.

Laughter and candlelight threw themselves at him from inside the house. Severus made his way in the door, snagging a can of root beer from a table full of junk food and soft drinks next to the stairs.

The other Death Eaters all sat sprawled across the floor in small groups of four to five people in every room that Severus passed. Each group had a couple of large books, a map, and several small stacks of paper surrounding them. Each group was also equipped with a small set of dice with different numbers of sides. The groups were all speaking loudly amongst themselves, trying to be heard above the din.

The air was thick and smoky, the general temperature of the room too hot to be comfortable. Severus, noting that the majority of the other Death Eaters already had done so, tugged his mask down so it hung by it's string around his neck. Huzzah, he could breath again!

No, Severus thought to himself as he gazed around the room, he wouldn't miss the Death Eater's weekly Game Night for the world.

Severus picked his way through the groups of gamers and passed-out Death Eaters and made his way over to the dining room, where he found his three gaming companions already seated around the table. Papers, books, and dice were spread across the surface, all situated around a rather large map of a dungeon.

Lord Voldemort looked up from the book he was reading through with a grin. "Severus, you made it! I wasn't sure if you'd get here."

"Sorry I'm late, my Lord," he said, sliding into the seat facing the Dark Lord and thanking his lucky stars that Voldemort had declared Game Night a mandatory cease-fire throughout the ranks, including himself. No crucio for being late tonight! "I see our game of choice for the night is 'Dungeons and Dragons'?"

Bellatrix Lestrange, sitting in a chair to Voldemort's left (Severus' right), nodded vigorously. "Yup. We're using the same roles we had the week before last."

Lucius Malfoy pouted in the chair across from her. "I still don't see why I can't be the Dungeon Master!" He whined.

Voldemort slammed his fist down on the table. "Because! Only _I_ am allowed to be Dungeon Master! GOT IT?" He yelled, his paper white face tinged with pink.

Lucius cowered. "Yes, master," he said, groveling.

Voldemort rolled his eyes and turned to Severus. "So are you ready to join in, Severus?"

Severus pulled the papers for his character out of the stack on the table and nodded.

"Okay," Voldemort said, glancing down at the book. "We'll pick up right where we left off from our last session."

He flipped a few pages in the Dungeon Master's book and started to read the passage.

"Severus, you have entered the door to the North. You are now by yourself, standing in a dark room. The pungent stench of mildew emanates from the wet dungeon walls…"

"Where are the Cheetos?" Lucius suddenly blurted out. The other three looked at him, and he stared stupidly back.

"They're right next to you!" Bellatrix finally said irritably.

"Oh," Lucius said, picking up the bag and pulling out one of the cheesy Muggle snacks.

"I cast a spell!" Severus said happily, grinning down at the map.

"Where's the Mountain Dew?" Lucius asked, tossing some Cheetos into his open mouth and chewing them noisily.

Bellatrix glared at him. "In the fridge, duh!"

Severus pouted. Why wasn't anyone listening to him? "I wanna cast a spell!"

"Can I have a Mountain Dew?" Lucius said annoyingly.

Bellatrix sighed and tried to concentrate on the game, while Lord Voldemort answered him irritably. "Yes, you can have a Mountain Dew, just go get it!"

Lucius enthusiastically jumped up from the table, knocking over his chair as he did so, and went into the kitchen.

Severus picked up a paper from the table and scanned it quickly. It was a list of the different spells you could use in the game. "I can cast any of these, right? On the list?"

Voldemort glanced at the paper Severus was showing him and nodded. "Yes, any of the first level ones."

Lucius chose that moment to stick his head in the doorway and yell in a loud obnoxious voice, "I'm gonna get a soda, anyone want one? Hey Lord Voldemort, I'm not in the room, right?"

Bellatrix blinked and looked up from the map at her brother-in-law. "What room?" she asked.

Severus, meanwhile, was focused on the list of spells. Finally, he found one he wanted to use, which he wasted no time in announcing to the other gamers. "I wanna cast 'Magic Missile!'" he said, sounding fascinated at the very idea of the spell. He lifted his root beer to his lips and took a swig.

Lucius gestured to Severus as he answered Bellatrix's question. "The room where he's casting all these spells from!"

Lord Voldemort sighed and said, "No, you're not. And he hasn't cast anything yet!"

Lucius nodded and ducked back into the kitchen.

Severus set down his can of root beer and told the Dungeon Master impatiently, "I am though, if you'd listen! I'm casting 'Magic Missile!'"

Bellatrix examined the map and then looked up at Severus. "Why are you casting Magic Missile? There's nothing to attack here."

Severus froze. She had him there. He had to have something to cast Magic Missile on or he couldn't cast it. "I – I'm attacking the darkness!"

All three of them laughed uproariously at this statement, quieting when they heard Lucius' high pitched cackle drift through the kitchen door.

Still chuckling, Voldemort said amusedly, "Fine, fine, you attack the darkness. There's an Elf in front of you."

Bellatrix looked up, trying to see what the Dungeon Master was having them do. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. That's me, right?"

While Lucius reentered the dining room with an armful of chip bags and candies, and a Mountain Dew in one hand, Voldemort went on to describe the Elf Severus' character had just found. "She's wearing a brown tunic, and she has grey hair, and blue eyes."

Bellatrix frowned, picking up her character sheet. "No, I don't, I have grey eyes!"

Voldemort sat up and leaned over to see the paper. "Lemme see that sheet…"

They looked at it together and Bellatrix pointed at one of the parts of the paper. "Well, it says I have blue, but I decided I wanted grey eyes."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and shook his head, waving a hand in dismissal. "Whatever. Okay, you guys can talk to each other now, if you want."

Severus and Bellatrix stared at one another for a moment while Lucius happily crunched on his Cheetos.

Finally Severus tentatively spoke. "Hello..."

"Hello…" Bellatrix said back.

That seemed to be all the encouragement Severus needed, because he then grinned and said cheerfully, "I am Severus, Sorcerer of Light!"

"Then how come you had to cast Magic Missile?" Bellatrix asked, and all four of them dissolved into giggles.

As the laughter died down, Voldemort started speaking again.

"You guys are being attacked."

"Do I see that happening?" Lucius said through a mouthful of Cheetos.

Bellatrix quickly looked at the map before answering. "No, you're outside by the tavern."

"Cool, I'm getting drunk!"

She just sighed.

"There are seven ogres surrounding you," Voldemort said, glancing at Severus and Bellatrix over the top of the Dungeon Master's Guide.

Severus' brow furrowed. "Wait, how could they surround us? I had Mordenkainen's Magical Watchdog cast."

Voldemort set down the book and shook his head. "No you didn't."

"I'm getting drunk! Are there any girls there?" Lucius said, grinning lecherously.

Severus nodded frantically at the Dark Lord, looking over his notes from their previous session. "I totally did! You asked me if I wanted any equipment before this adventure and I said 'no, but I need material components for all my spells.' So I cast Mordenkainen's Faithful Watchdog!"

"But you never actually cast it," Voldemort said as though explaining to a small child.

Just then, Lucius shoved a handful of dice in Voldemort's face. "Roll the dice to see if I'm getting drunk!"

The Dark Lord sighed and rolled the dice. "Yeah, you are."

Lucius grinned idiotically. "Are there any girls there?"

"Yes," Bellatrix said, trying to placate the blonde before he made a scene.

Severus pounded his fist on the table, growing angry. "I did though! I completely said when you asked me – "

Voldemort stood from his chair, red eyes flashing dangerously. "No, you didn't! You didn't actually say that you were casting the spell, so now there's ogres, okay?"

Lucius looked up at that, grinning stupidly some more. "Ogres? Man, I got an Ogre-Slaying knife, it's got a plus-nine against ogres!"

Bellatrix reached a hand up to pull at her hair in frustration with her brother-in-law. "You're not there. You're getting drunk!" she yelled.

Lucius looked down at the map dubiously. "Okay, but if there's any girls there I wanna do them!"

Bellatrix just smacked a hand against her forehead and groaned.

"Okay, then," Voldemort said, looking down at the book, "So the seven ogres surround you two and attack. What do you want to do now?"

"I cast 'Magic Missile'!" Severus said with a stupid grin. Suddenly he frowned and grabbed the spell list, saying, "No, wait…" he read through the list thoughtfully, then looked at the map, "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I cast 'Magic Missile'."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes while Voldemort rolled the dice.

Just then, a young Death Eater with his mask hanging from it's strings burst into the room, breathing heavily.

"What is it?" Voldemort asked in a bored tone without looking up from the game.

"My lord, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are at the front door. They want to see you right away. They said something about you meeting your ultimate demise once and for all, or something to that effect."

"Really?" Voldemort said with disinterest. "Well, that's too bad. Tell them they'll have to come again another time, I'm busy right now."

"Are you sure, my lord? They are alone; this could be the perfect time to get rid of them."

"It's Game Night," Voldemort said, "Mandatory cease-fire, remember? We'll have to battle over the fate of the world another time." He turned a page in the Dungeon Master's guide and started reading.

The young recruit looked at him dubiously. "Okay, I'll tell them. I doubt they'll be happy about it though."

He disappeared through the door, leaving Voldemort, Severus, Bellatrix, and Lucius to play their game. However, a few minutes later, the recruit came back.

"Oh, what is it now?" Voldemort snapped. He had just been about to have more ogres appear out of nowhere and kill Severus. Bellatrix had been pushed to one side of the Dungeon and was too far away to offer the Sorcerer of Light assistance, and Lucius was currently hitting on the barkeep of the tavern. Again.

The Dark Lord's answer was a voice yelling out, "Stupefy!" and the young Death Eater collapsed where he stood. Severus, Lucius, Bellatrix, and Voldemort just stared at his unmoving form on the floor.

"I think he must be drunk too, for him to fall like that. Don't you think so, Severus?" Lucius said.

Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter stepped over the unconscious Death Eater and entered the dining room, the aged headmaster coming in first with his wand out. Harry was sending strange looks over his shoulder at the Death Eaters in the other rooms and muttering to himself.

"This ends tonight, Tom!" Dumbledore said with false bravado.

The crusty old wizard expected something along the lines of Voldemort rising to his feet dramatically saying, "Yes, and I shall be victorious!" And then they would trade insults for a while. Eventually Dumbledore would moan about how it didn't have to be this way, and it wasn't too late to turn good. Voldemort would scoff and then they would end up dueling. Before long, Harry would step in at the worst possible moment, fool Gryffindor that he was, always trying to be the hero. Harry would continue the duel until he was injured in the fight, and then Dumbledore would bravely and heroically destroy the Dark Lord and all his followers while the Dark Lord was distracted, too busy gloating over his victim to pay any attention to the other wizard. Then, after it was all over, he would drop to his knees next to Harry's prone form just in time to hear the tragic, young protagonist's last words before he succumbed to death from his wounds.

However, all Dumbledore got was an irritated, "Shut up, we're in the middle of something important!" from Bellatrix Lestrange, who sat next to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore blinked, but quickly regained his composure. "Oh, come now, Tom! I am here to finish this war once and for all! Come over here and fight me like a Wizard!"

"Shhh! I'm busy getting drunk here, do you mind?" Lucius said, giving Dumbledore the evil eye as he took another sip of his Mountain Dew.

Bellatrix looked skeptically across the table at him. "You are aware that Mountain Dew is non-alcoholic, aren't you?"

"No! Seriously?" Lucius stared in horror at the half-empty drink can in his hand before shrugging and taking another sip.

"But – "

"Headmaster we're really kind of busy here. Really! Come again tomorrow!" Severus said, writing down something on a piece of paper while referring to the page in the book Bellatrix was showing him.

"Umm…"

Finally Voldemort stood, glaring at his arch-nemesis. "Look, seriously, dude, I can't duel you right now. Come back later."

"Why can you not face me right now, Tom? It is because you are afraid, is it not?" Dumbledore said gravely. With the right words, he was sure he could goad Voldemort into starting a duel. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. Dumbledore was too noble to begin a battle himself. He had to let the enemy make a move before it was alright for him to attack.

"There's a couple of reasons. One, we're in the middle of a D&D game right now. Two, it's Game Night. We Death Eaters hold a mandatory cease-fire for the entire group on Game Night, including me."

"What do you mean, 'cease-fi – "

But Dumbledore was cut off in mid-sentence by Harry.

"Wait, did you say D&D? As in, Dungeons and Dragons?"

Voldemort nodded. "We're in the middle of a gaming session right now."

A wide grin broke out on Harry's face. "Oh, COOL! Dude, that is so AWESOME! I _love_ Dungeons and Dragons! Can I play? No one else at the school plays, so I never get to play anymore!"

Voldemort smiled, a very frightening thing it was, but still, a smile. "Sure, you can play! I'm the Dungeon Master, though. I'm always the Dungeon Master. Go fill out a character profile sheet and you can join in."

"Excellent!" Harry eagerly went over and plopped down in between Lucius and Severus and grabbed a blank profile sheet. "Anyone got a quill?"

"Harry, my boy, I don't think – " Dumbledore started to say, but stopped as Bellatrix shoved a spare quill across the table at Harry. "Here you go, Golden Boy."

"Thanks!" he said, and began scribbling furiously.

In his best, authoritive voice, Dumbledore said, "Harry, stop fraternizing with the enemy! Since it's obvious no one is going to duel tonight, we will be returning to the school. Now."

"Aw, but Heeeead-maaaaas-teeeeer! I never get to play D&D anymore!" Harry whined.

"Don't worry, Albus," Severus said without looking up. "The cease-fire is mandatory, no harm will come to Golden Boy here. And I'll bring him straight home once the game is over, I swear."

Dumbledore looked around at the Death Eaters and Boy-Who-Lived, completely flabbergasted. Finally he shook his head. "Fine, but on your own head be it, Harry, when they Avada you in the back!"

He turned and swept out of the dining room, leaving the manor and apparating back to the borders of Hogwarts, muttering all the way. "And they actually believe he's the Savior? And Tom…honestly, _Game Night_? What is the world coming to…"

Meanwhile, back in the dining room, Harry had just finished equipping his character and was joining the battle in the mildew-y smelling dungeon.

"I attack the ogres from the opposite side that Sev and Bella are on!"

"Don't call me Bella."

"Hm…Sev…I like it! Hey, everyone! Let's all call Severus Sev from now on! I bet the girls at the tavern would like it too!"

"Say it again, Lucius, and I'll castrate you. I cast Magic Missile!"

"Harry, Severus' Magic Missile missed the ogres and hit you instead. You died."

"Ah, fudgemonkeys! Now I have to make a new character, or find someone to resurrect me! Curse you, and your poorly aimed Magic Missile, Severus! Hey, where's the Cheetos?"

* * *

Harry returned to Hogwarts with Severus around midnight in perfect health, the two happily discussing the happenings and statistics of that evening's game.

None of them, not Voldemort, Severus, Bellatrix, Lucius, Dumbledore, or Harry, ever mentioned Game Night in public again.

However, after that particular Death Eater…meeting…that Dumbledore had tried to crash with Harry in tow, whenever Dungeons and Dragons was selected for the Night, both Harry and Severus would disappear for a few hours, returning around midnight smelling like Cheetos, root beer, and Mountain Dew.

* * *

Fin.

My friend Mike kept quoting this "D&D game from Hell" and I was bored. So I found the audio clip online, listened to it, wrote it down, and modified it into this. At the time I wrote this, I'd never played Dungeons and Dragons, and I wouldn't have been able to finish this or do it properly without help from the guy who is now my Dungeon Master. Thanks Big Bro!

And you, my readers, thank you very much for taking the time to read this! I gift you with cake, cookies, corn, and confetti. Knock yourself out!

-Happycabbage

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.


	4. Somebody Loves Me

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.

Title: Somebody Loves Me

Summary: I had someone who loved me once. But it was a war, after all, and one must make sacrifices to survive...

Disclaimer: You know, sometimes I wonder, what would happen if JKRowling _did_ come on here and write Harry Potter fanfictions? Would she still have to put up a disclaimer and everything? Would she stick Snarry, Snupin, Drarry, and other obscure relationships in her fanfics? Would she go around flaming all the lifeless idiots that dare to make her precious babies OOC? Would she track down and kill all the Rabid Yaoi Fangirls? Maybe we should all join the Witness Protection Program…

Content: Romance/Angst/Horror. HPDM Slash and character death. AU from Order of the Phoenix onwards

* * *

Everyone I know always said that one of the worst parts of the war was all the loved ones lost. Most say that I, as the Ice Prince of Slytherin, wouldn't know, since I have no loved ones. Not true. Contrary to popular belief, I love my mother and father. Sure they aren't dead, but I still love them and worry for them. As for love lost...I have my own story.

It was my Lord's perfect plan. Lure the golden boy to me, and deliver him from there to the Dark Lord to dispose of. And it worked. I befriended the Boy-Who-Lived, got him to trust me, and even dated Harry Potter for several months before his death.

Yes, the Dark Lord won.

When the war was finally over, I was hailed as a hero by the other Death Eaters, considered a favorite of our Lord, one to be admired and respected. Because I was able to give the Dark Lord something none of the others were able to. I gave him Harry Potter.

I'm now sitting off to the side at yet another ball, this one to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Harry's death and the victory over Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Most are laughing and drinking and dancing. A couple of the Death Eaters have become so drunk that they have begun wrestling upon the floor, like a pack of Muggles. Disgusting behavior. But not me. No, I am standing on one of the balconies at Malfoy Manor, where this particular party is being hosted. I'm leaning on the rail, looking out at the small wood and lake on the grounds outside while I think about the Boy-Who-Lived-Who-Died.

I remember when I first approached him on the first day of my sixth year. It was just after the Welcoming Feast, and I had asked to speak to him in private. The Weasel and the Mudblood watched me warily, lingering for a moment even after he had told them to go on ahead to Gryffindor Tower without him. My attempt at reconciliation almost turned into another shouting match, but luckily I managed to convince Golden Boy to give me a chance.

Our relationship was at first a tentative friendship. Read, I stopped verbally assaulting him and he tried to be friendly. By order of my Lord, slowly but surely, I became friends with Harry Potter.

I actually found him to be nice enough. He was intelligent, and he had a wicked sense of humor. All this helped my job a great deal, though I was careful not to let myself get attached. I knew the Dark Lord would merely kill him in the end.

Harry was the only Gryffindor who didn't suspect me of foul play. His little friends were determined to see all the worst in me, and warned him often enough that I would betray him. Unfortunately for him, they were right. I did betray him. But not out of cruelty.

After my time spent as Harry Potter's friend, and then more time spent as his boyfriend, I figured out that I personally bore him no ill will. I did not care for him, but I did not dislike him either. But my Lord gave his orders, and I believed in the cause, so whether or not I disliked my enemy, I was merely doing my job. I would carry out my duty with pride.

When he first asked me out, I hadn't expected it. It was just before Christmas break of our sixth year. He nervously asked me to meet him at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom at midnight, saying he needed to talk to me where he knew we wouldn't be overheard.

When I arrived, he was already waiting, talking softly with Myrtle. Imagine my surprise when after greeting me he started hissing in Parseltongue, opening a secret passage through the sink that led to a large cavernous chamber. After bringing me down inside, he quietly informed me that we were in the beginnings of the caverns below Hogwarts that made up the Chamber of Secrets, and since only he could get the passage to open up, we could talk freely.

He had been pale and nervous, trying to make some meaningless conversation before finally getting to the point. He told me that since we had put aside our differences, he had enjoyed getting to know me better, and admitted to having developed feelings for me. That had thrown me for a loop. He then asked me if I reciprocated his feelings, and if so, would I perhaps be interested in a relationship?

I had been speechless, and I remember the hope dimming in his face the longer I took to answer. I had to think fast, or risk failing my mission by accidentally shutting Harry out.

Finally I told him that while I did not presently have any feelings of that sort towards him, I would not be adverse to trying a relationship and seeing where it went.

The smile he gave me when I said that, while slightly lopsided and still not a full smile, was still the most brilliant smile I'd ever seen on his face. He took my hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing my fingers, and said that that was good enough for him, and that he hoped I might return his feelings someday soon.

The whole time that we were together he was the best boyfriend a person could want. He was loving, but not overly affectionate, giving me space since he knew I didn't quite feel that way yet. He was attentive to my needs, constantly doing small things to show that he cared and was there for me. It was rather sweet, in a way. I had always thought that it would be me doing such things, for some girl or another. It was actually pretty nice to have someone do those things for me. I can definitely relate to any female who says that romantic gestures can make their heart melt.

Even if it was with a cold undertone of indifference on my part.

With Harry, everything was sincere. Even when he was being sweet, he was never overly sappy or anything. He was still the Harry I had come to know as a friend; witty and brave, intelligent, but not a know-it-all like Granger. He actually seemed more Slytherin than Gryffindor to me at times. A few weeks after we started dating he had even told me that he was almost sorted into Slytherin.

When I reported this to my Lord, he was struck with a new idea. Rather than killing Harry when he captured him, he would try to persuade him to see reason, and join the right side. I was commanded to find a way to subtly influence Harry to the Death Eaters' side, then bring him before the Dark Lord.

From then on, I tried to bring out Harry's clever, ambitious, Slytherin side. I attempted, without directly confronting the issue, to show him the flaws with Dumbledore's ideal Wizarding World and prove right the reasons why we wanted Muggle influence severed.

I'm not a Slytherin for nothing; I did a good job of it. He saw reason on some things. Wizards and Muggles could either mix completely or not at all. There could be no blurring of the line. If we were going to live alongside them in peace we would have to reveal the world of magic. There could be no more hiding. He also no longer trusted Dumbledore, after seeing someone other than the Headmaster's lapdogs' point of view. He told me once that he believed that the Headmaster meant well, but he was blind to the individual people that he placed as figureheads in the war, such as Harry himself.

But Harry refused point-blank to even try and see any good in the Dark Lord and his cause. I suppose that shouldn't be very surprising. I mean, the man did kill his parents and repeatedly attempt to kill him on several occasions after all.

Anyhow, after drawing out Harry's dormant Slytherin side and showing him the truth of the carefully molded and manipulated world that Dumbledore had set up for him, I began to search for a way to get Harry to the Dark Lord.

After corresponding through letters over the summer (Dumbledore refused to let him leave his Aunt and Uncle's house), our seventh year was about to start. We arranged to meet at Diagon Alley for our school shopping and to spend some time together doing something fun. But after doing our school shopping, rather than going to Muggle London or something else, I apparated us back here, to Malfoy Manor.

My Lord was waiting.

Harry hadn't been expecting it at first, but it didn't take him long to figure out what was going on. It would be kind of hard not to, with about two hundred Death Eaters plus the Dark Lord staring you down the minute you come in the door. Once inside the house the anti-apparition wards kept him from escaping, and I had already discreetly disabled any other means for him to send word to his little friends.

Once realizing he had no way out, Harry just stood and stared blankly for the longest time, straight at me. While the Dark Lord was talking, trying to convince him to join the right side before it was too late, Harry stared at me the whole time. There was no expression on his face, and I couldn't meet his gaze for long.

Harry stood alone before the masked and robed Death Eaters, the Dark Lord before them, and myself slightly off to the side, not wearing a mask or robe, but marked by the black tattoo on my arm as one of them.

When my Lord finished his attempt to convince Harry to join him was finished and he finally got to the point and outright asked him, Harry responded calmly with one word.

"No."

My Lord shrugged and muttered, "Suit yourself," before nodding to the Death Eaters.

Harry fought bravely, but they set upon him like flies on a carcass; even as skilled as he was, he was swiftly overcome. His wand taken from him, Harry was magically bound and levitated over to float in front of the Dark Lord, his eyes burning with loathing whenever they fell upon my Lord.

The Dark Lord had merely stood in front of Harry's floating form, smirking smugly as he twirled Harry's wand between his fingers. Everyone was certain he would kill Harry then, or have him brought to the dungeons to be tortured. But he surprised us by calling someone forward.

"Draco!"

Me. I had been startled by him calling my name, and took in a shaky breath before stepping forward and bowing low before him. "My Lord?"

He grinned at me, a triumphant, slightly-too-pleased-with-himself gleam in his crimson eyes. He glanced over at Harry and grinned wider before turning to me. "You served me well, Draco. So now I give a gift to you. You may do it however you wish but see that it's done." I nodded, holding my wand tightly in my hand, dreading what was to come next.

"Kill Potter."

He stepped back then, and the other Death Eaters did the same, giving me space.

I had been frozen to the spot at first, then numbly stepped forward to face Harry. Gently, I lowered him to the ground so he was standing and released him from the magical binding and silencio that had been cast.

He did not move or speak, but simply stood stock still, watching me blankly, as though waiting to see if I would betray him. I stepped forward, and, acting on impulse, kissed him softly, raising a hand to cup his cheek. It was the first – and only – time I had ever instigated a kiss, and I could feel him melting against me, even with the room full of Death Eaters. The kiss was long and slow and sweet, everything that our relationship had been until then.

I pulled away slowly, then looked him in the eyes. I knew then that he really and truly loved me. I could see it in his eyes.

I raised the wand, and the whole room seemed to hold it's breath as they waited to see what I would do. In the end, I think I disappointed them all slightly.

"Avada Kedavra."

The whispered words were enough, and Harry crumpled and fell to the floor, his eyes glassy. It was done. He was dead.

The rest of what happened that day is unimportant.

* * *

Everyone I know always said that one of the worst parts of the war was all the loved ones lost.

Most say that I, as the Ice Prince of Slytherin, wouldn't know, since I have no loved ones.

Not true.

I have my own story.

My story is different though, because mine was sort of reversed.

I did not love Harry Potter. But I know that he loved me.

I killed someone who loved me.

And I think sometimes that that is worse.

* * *

The End

Please review and let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

-Happycabbage

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.


	5. Hold Him

Title: Hold Him

Summary: On lonely nights we wander, and on lonely nights we wonder. On this lonely night, I discovered. oneshot mild slash HPDM NonHBP

Disclaimer: If Snape/Harry is Snarry, Harry/Draco is Drarry, and Snape/Lupin is Snupin, does that mean that Snape/Draco is Snaco? Or would it be Drape? 0.o It's J.'s, not mine.

Content: Romance/Angst HPDM Slashy elements. 7th year and AU after Order of the Phoenix

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In the North wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you can find the tallest tower in the castle. At the very top of said tower is a trapdoor that leads to the roof. The roof up there is flat, with a low wall around the edge and several stone benches situated next to the walls in various spots.

You can see for miles around the castle in every direction from up there. It's truly a beautiful spot, especially at night, with the light of the moon and the stars reflected in the lake below. That's where I am right now, while I write this down on a spare scrap of parchment I found in my pocket.

I discovered this area in the middle of my fifth year. I had taken to wandering around the school at night, just so I could be alone and have some time to think. It was such a perfect, beautiful spot that since then, for the past two and a half years, I have come here every time I wanted to be alone. I never imagined it would eventually reveal what I found out earlier tonight.

Imagine my surprise when I came up to my hideaway this evening only to find a certain red-haired, temperamental, Gryffindor year-mate of mine sitting down on my bench, leaning against my wall, looking out at my view.

I had been going to kick him out of my spot, maybe put a hex on him to teach him a lesson. Nobody invades my private space! But before I could say anything at all, he spoke to me, without even turning around to look at me.

"He loves you, you know."

I had stopped, not daring to move. This was the first time I had ever heard the Weasel speak to me without his usual anathema towards everything Slytherin. Instead he sounded merely…sad.

Without waiting for me to give him a response he had continued on. "With all his heart, he loves you. I don't know how, and Merlin only knows why. All I know is that he does, for some reason that totally escapes me, love you."

Weasley gave a dry hollow laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "He could have asked for anyone, and had anybody he wanted – except you. And you are all he wants. How's that for irony, eh?"

He then sighed and started staring back out at the grounds. I was beginning to realize just who it was he was speaking about.

"You know, it hurts him so much. I can feel him dying a little, every time you start shooting your mouth off, insulting me or 'Mione, and especially when you do it to him."

Yes, I had definitely realized who it was by then.

"I wish I could do something to help him. I wish I could make you stop hurting him, or make you disappear from existence so he never had to go through any of this at all. I wish I could make you love him back. But I can't."

He bowed his head before saying the next words. "All I can do is hold him when he cries at night."

He had fallen silent for moment, standing up and turning to face me with his head bowed, walking slowly towards me as he spoke once more.

"You make Harry do something that no one else is capable of. You make him cry."

He had stopped in front of me, and tilted his head up so he was looking me in the eye for the first time tonight. "You make him cry," he repeated in a whisper, "And for that, Draco Malfoy, I hate you with a passion."

He said nothing more after that, simply pushing past me to go the trap door, leaving me alone on the top of the windy tower that suddenly seemed so cold and lonely.

And so I have sat here alone for many long hours, contemplating my next move. The sun is rising now, and I know I should return to the Dungeons before I am missed. But something is keeping me here. Confusion? Yes. Trepidation? Perhaps.

I wonder what I am to do. Because I found out tonight that the object of my affections returns my feelings.

I have been out here all night now, and breakfast is getting on in the Great Hall. I can see the students moving past the windows across the castle and far below me. My Eagle Owl, Tiberius, noticed me sitting here, and instead of flying into the Great Hall with the other owls, has come over to meet me. I'm sitting here stroking his head, as I contemplate what to do with this scrap of paper I am writing on right now.

It is about halfway through breakfast down in the Great Hall, now.

And I have come to my decision.

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The End?

I didn't really mean for this to go past Ron leaving the Tower, but it sort of grew. So I'll let you all decide. I can keep this as an open-ended one-shot and let you all decide what happens. Or, there is really no plot for a long story, but I might do a short follow-up fic,.

Review and let me know what you think and what you want me to do!

Thanks for reading,

Happycabbage

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.


	6. Christmas Magic

Title: Christmas Magic

Summary: Christmas is a time for love and joy, and for one small boy, the smallest gesture of kindness can mean the whole world.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.. Obviously.

Content: Completely PG for once! Le Gasp!! Pre-Hogwarts and Harrycentric.

I know in England they call Santa 'Father Christmas', but it didn't seem to fit very well. :P Get over it. Read! Read, and be happy! And review!

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Poor Santa was tired.

He had been sitting on this same uncomfortable chair, with kids sitting on his lap while babbling about what they wanted for Christmas while their harried, shop-weary parents stood off to the side, waiting for them to finish up so they could get their holiday photos of the kids and go home for going on three hours now.

Exhausted, he glanced up at the clock. It was about twenty minutes to closing time, and there were only a few families left waiting in line. Thank god.

"Goodbye, Sara! Happy Christmas!" he called to the latest little girl as she skipped back to where her mother was waiting with open arms.

"Bye, Santa!" she called out cheerfully. She had been one of the nice little kids.

Santa sighed and looked over to the front of the line. There was only one more family, a tall bony woman with blonde hair standing next to a purple-faced whale of a man, with two children. When he caught sight of the first child, he had to fight off a groan. The child would have looked about six – would have, except for the fact that he was so morbidly obese he looked more like a pig standing on its hind legs.

Plastering a smile on his face, Santa held his hand out and gestured at the young boy (in no way could this kid be called little) to step up. "Come on, then, don't be shy! Come sit on Santa's lap!"

An eager, greedy grin spread across the kid's face, and he let go of his mother's hand to waddle over and clamber up, huffing and puffing as he used the arms of the chair to slowly pull himself up. Even with Santa's help, it took a few minutes to get him all the way up. When he finally managed it, he plopped down hard on Santa's lap, nearly crushing something very precious and making Santa wince in pain. The little boy wiggled a bit, trying to get comfortable, then settled down with a satisfied sigh.

Once Santa had regained his breath to speak, he managed to choke out, "And what's your name?" God, if this kid made it to old age without a heart attack, he would make a perfect replacement Santa!

"Dudley Dursley," he stated primly, as though he were the most important person in the world.

"And have you been a good boy this year, Dudley?"

"Oh, yes! My mummy says I'm like a little angel!"

Little, my foot…

"That's excellent, Dudley! And what would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

Dudley wasted no time in explaining to Santa all of what he wanted for Christmas, including a television set, a Nintendo 64 along with about ten different games, a kitten, a computer, a camera, an electric train set, a boom box, a lava lamp, a parrot, five different comic book series in their entirety, and an Easy-Bake Oven.

"Okay then," Santa gasped as the kid started squirming around on his lap. God, his legs were breaking under the pressure! "I'll see what I can do. Now, smile for my nice helper lady, so she can take our picture!"

Dudley plastered on a wide, simpering, smile while the lady with the camera took their picture, and Dudley slid off Santa's lap, causing the poor man to sigh with relief.

"Hold on, Dudley," Santa said, reaching behind his chair for a package of sweets, "Santa has a little early present for you." He pulled out a candy cane and laid it in Dudley's outstretched hand. When he saw what it was, Dudley's face fell. "Why's it so small? Give me another one!" he demanded imperiously.

"I'm sorry Dudley, I only have enough for each little boy or girl to have one."

Dudley pouted and appeared to be about to throw a tantrum. Making up his mind, Santa pulled one more out of the package. "You know what, since you and your brother are the last ones tonight, I think I can spare an extra for both of you…"

Dudley glanced back at the other, smaller boy standing with his parents and sneered. "Who, him? He's not my brother. He's just Harry." He then snatched the candy canes out of Santa's hand, pulling the wrapper off and sticking the whole thing in his mouth.

"Oh," Santa said, confused, "Well, alright then. Happy Christmas, Dudley!"

Without so much as a "Thank you!" or a "Happy Christmas!" or even a "Goodbye!" in return, Dudley turned around and toddled back over to where his parents were waiting, the photo already finished, printed, and in Mrs. Dursley's hand. The family turned to walk away, without getting the other child's picture taken at all.

"Wait a moment!"

The Dursleys stopped and turned back to look at him. Santa held his hand out to the other little boy – Harry, did Dudley say his name was? "Don't you want to come sit on Santa's lap?"

The little boy's bright green eyes turned huge, and he cautiously glanced up at the Dursleys. They didn't look happy about it; more exasperated and annoyed. They glanced at one another, and then Mr. Dursley said, "What the hell, it's Christmas. Go on, boy, but hurry up about it!"

His eyes seemed to widen even more, if that was even possible, and he slowly turned and shuffled over to where Santa was waiting with a smile, his tiny thumb firmly planted in his mouth. He stopped in front of Santa and didn't move, just stared at him, his messy black hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

"What's your name, little one?"

"Harry," the boy said softly, popping his thumb back in his mouth as soon as the word left it.

"Would you like to sit on my lap and talk a little, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, and glanced back at the Dursleys who were waiting impatiently. He turned back around to look at Santa, eyes huger than ever, and nodded slowly.

Santa smiled and put his hands under the boys arms, lifting him up effortlessly and settling him on his lap. The boy was as light as Dudley was heavy. Harry sat stiffly on Santa's lap for a moment before relaxing, cuddling up against Santa, his thumb still buried in his mouth.

Santa smiled and put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Have _you_ been a good boy this year Harry?"

Harry's innocent expression saddened somewhat, and he slowly shook his head. Santa was surprised. All the kids, even the obviously horribly spoiled little brats like Dudley, claimed to be perfect little angels, so as to be sure to get lots of presents.

"No? Why not?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "I dunno what I did, but Auntie Petunia said I was bad."

Santa felt his insides growing cold.

"Do you believe her?"

Harry looked up sharply. "Oh, yes," he said earnestly. "Auntie Petunia's always right! And besides, I must be on your bad list, because I don't ever get anything at all on Christmas, not even coal!"

Santa was suddenly very glad that Harry had such a quiet voice, so his family wouldn't be able to hear their conversation. Just what kind of people were the Dursleys?

"I'm sure you aren't bad at all, little one. One of my Elves must have made a mistake with the list! Tell me, what would you like for Christmas?"

Harry seemed to be thinking for a moment, before taking his thumb out of his mouth and saying, "I dunno."

"Surely there must be something?"

Harry thought hard. "I want…a mummy."

Santa blinked. "A mummy?"

Harry nodded. "And a Daddy. Dudley has a Mummy and a Daddy, but I just have Auntie Petunia and Uncle Vernon. I want my very own Mummy and Daddy, just like Dudley has."

Santa took a breath and forced a smile on his face. "I'll see what I can do, but Mummys and Daddys are hard to come by."

Harry just nodded, as though he had been expecting that. "Auntie Petunia said that my Mummy and Daddy died. I figured I wouldn't get them back, I just thought I'd ask. Auntie Petunia said they was in the bad place. I don't want them to be in the bad place. It doesn't sound very nice."

Santa blinked as he felt tears well up in his eyes. Oh, this poor child…

"Tell you what, Harry. You smile for the nice camera lady so we can get our picture taken, and then while we wait for your picture to get printed out, I'll give you a special present, just in case I can't get that Mummy and Daddy you asked for, okay?"

Harry's eyes widened again, and he nodded. "Okay!"

He turned to face the camera and gave a shy smile, thumb still firmly in his mouth. The light bulb flashed, and while the lady printed out the picture, Santa reached one leather gloved hand into his furry red robe and pulled a silver chain out and over his head. Hanging from it was a thick silver ring, the band traced with a twisting Celtic design.

Santa glanced over at the Dursleys. Mrs. Dursley had taken Dudley over to a candy shop on the corner to buy some gingerbread while Mr. Dursley was grumpily paying for the photos. None of them paid Harry or Santa any heed.

Santa quickly took the ring on the chain and hung it around Harry's neck. Harry picked the ring up from where it lay against his chest and looked at it in awe. He had never seen anything so beautiful and shiny in all his six years.

"That ring is very special Harry," Santa said, waiting for Harry to look up. My daddy gave that to me when I was your age, and since I have no children of my own to give it to, I want you to have it. I have been waiting all my life to find the perfect child to give this to, and I believe you are it."

Harry's eyes widened and he slid off of Santa's lap, trying to push the ring and chain back at him. "I can't take your special ring, Santa! I don't deserve it!"

Santa just smiled and wrapped Harry's hand closed around the ring. "Oh I think you do. Just promise me one thing; promise me you won't ever let your Auntie Petunia, or Uncle Vernon, or Dudley touch it, or take it away, or even see it! It'll be our little secret, alright?"

Harry thought for a moment, then smiled again. "Alright!" Then he took the ring and slipped it under his shirt where no one could see.

"Come on, boy!" Mr. Dursley yelled, and Harry cowered a little, "We don't have all night, the store is closing!"

"Thanks Santa! Bye!" Looking a little more cheerful than when Santa had first seen him, Harry started to walk back over to where the Dursleys were waiting.

"Harry," Santa called after him. When Harry turned around, Santa smiled once more. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry grinned back. "Happy Christmas Santa."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT(Ten Years Later)TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Harry sat on the edge of the bed in the sixth year Gryffindor boys dorm room, staring at a silver band on a long chain in his hand. Harry could hear the other Gryffindors partying downstairs in the common room. It was after all, the last night before the winter holiday started. They wanted to have a chance to spend some time with friends before going home for the holidays. But he didn't feel like joining them just yet preferring to be alone for a moment.

It had been ten years since the department store Santa had given Harry "his special ring." Harry smiled, lost in memory, as he turned the ring over in his hands. That had been one of the few times he had been shown any kindness as a child. He just wished he had been able to save the photo, which Uncle Vernon had thrown in the trash as soon as the had left the store.

He remembered that shortly after Christmas that year, the police had come by for an investigation. Someone wishing to remain anonymous had filed a complaint, saying that the Dursleys were neglecting and possibly abusing their charge. Of course, nothing ever came of the investigation. Vernon was too slippery and had too many friends in high places for that. Harry had had no one. Now, years later, Harry had realized it was probably the department store Santa who had filed the complaint, and even though the man's efforts were in vain, he still felt grateful that Santa had at least tried.

A loud thumping on the stairs alerted him to Ron's approach long before the door opened, admitting both Ron and a sudden increase in volume of the cacophony downstairs.

"Hey, Harry, why are you up here by yourself? Everyone's downstairs, you should come down and have some fun."

"I'll be down in a moment, Ron," Harry said, giving his best friend a small smile.

Just then Ron caught sight of the ring in Harry's hands. "What's that you've got there, Harry?"

Harry looked back down at the ring and smiled, standing up and pulling the chain back around his neck.

"Just a bit of Christmas magic, Ron," he said.

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The End.

Please don't forget to read and review!

-Happycabbage

IF YOU ARE WATCHING ME OR ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ!

I'm in the middle of clearing out my account. I am changing my username, and will be deleting some stories, rewriting some, and putting others up for adoption. PLEASE GO TO MY PROFILE FOR MORE DETAILS.


	7. Confessions of a Barkeep

Author's Note: Quite low-key, for one of mine. Mentions of alcohol usage, but not much else. Only mild spoilers, and some AU.

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine. It belongs to J..

**QUICK MEMO!** So, if you haven't yet heard, I have some new information regarding the continuation of my ongoing stories like The Gathering, Did it Hurt, and Most Beautiful Sound. Please go see my profile for more info!

This is a set of quasi-drabbles, each of which have been triggered by a different one-word prompt. Each one will be a single paragraph, told from Madame Rosmerta's (the bartender of the Three Broomsticks) point of view.

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Confessions of a Barkeep

#1) Snow

The bar is entirely filled with the stuff. I expect those twin Weasley boys have something to do with it. They're sitting at a table in the back, sipping their butterbeers and looking quite smug. It's the middle of June, but the glistening wet whiteness doesn't melt. It's spread all over the floor, along with any flat surface that stays still long enough. It's quite a well-done charm; the snow is resistant to any and all spells and methods of getting rid of it. On the outside, I make as though it's irritating me. Secretly though, I'm quite enjoying it. What with this heat wave we've been having the past few days, it's quite the pleasant change. My customers are happy too; they smile with relief and amusement at the cool air that greets them the moment they walk in the door. A few students are tossing the snow cheerfully at one another across the room, but as long as they don't disturb any of the other patrons, I'll let them be. However, if all this snow melts, then I know a certain pair of redheads who will be mopping it up the Muggle way.

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#2) Castle

I love Hogwarts. I suppose that's one of the reasons I set up my pub in Hogsmeade, to be close to my beloved school. Most of the students took it for granted, a right rather than a privilege. But them seem to forget the true beauty of the place where they are taught to utilize their magic. I remember my time there as a child. With all the paintings, so friendly as long as you mind your manners. The moving staircases, quite helpful in moving just so, taking you exactly where you need to be. But mostly I remember the Enchanted Ceiling in the Great Hall. I remember staring up at the ceiling after I finished my meals, watching the sky. I had discovered in my third year that if you looked long and hard enough, you could see the beautiful architecture of the ceiling through the charm. That was the magic of Hogwarts. If you wanted it badly enough, and the castle liked you, you could go anywhere.

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#3) Tell

One thing I've noticed about being a bartender, people seem to have a great deal of trust and respect for you. They treat you as a sort of general walk-in therapist. Many times I've had people come in for a drink and ended up listening to their problems. Most of the time, that's all they need to help them; a drink and someone to talk to. Strangely enough, one of my regular "patients," as it were, is Minerva McGonagall, from up at the school. Lately she comes down more and more. She's worried, terribly worried, about the students. Understandable, considering You-Know-Who returned last June. She comes into my bar quite depressed, hiccupping over a mug of butterbeer as she goes into a rant over how the students are getting so careless, and how Albus is pushing himself so hard to protect him. She says she just doesn't know what to do anymore. And she's right. Things are getting really bad. I wonder, how many innocent children and families will be lost due to You-Know-Who this time around?

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#4) Song

It's Friday. The monthly Band Night. Since the defeat of the Dark Lord a year ago, I felt the need to make a new tradition. So I started letting bands in once a month to come play. What's more, I worked out a deal with Albus; the students third year and up who had parental permission could come, to have good time and enjoy themselves with friends. In fact, several of the bands that come are beginner bands made by the students. One of the most popular, the one that's here tonight, and that has come around a few times now, is Muggle-Death-Eater.

The rock band started, surprisingly, by Harry Potter. Harry himself is the lead guitar, while two of his friends, Draco Malfoy (the bassist) and Hermione Granger (the drummer) make up the rest of the band. They're starting they're first number now, a song Harry wrote called "Just Friends," and the students and other people gathered here are going crazy, almost drowning out the music.

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#5) Rosette

The Quidditch World Cup just ended. Several people portkeying out early came here, to my pub. Some of them, too tired or depressed from the outcome of the match to care, just head straight up to their room. Others, wishing to celebrate, are calling for butterbeer, firewhiskey, and just about every other kind of alcohol there is. I smile and pass out the tankards, discretely placing charms on the harder liquor to keep underage party-goers from drinking them. They'll have butterbeer, or nothing at all. A teenaged American witch wearing a large green hat with a dancing shamrock on it sits across the bar from me, laughing and discussing the match with her two friends. A green pin attached to the collar of her emerald robes yelps out in a high-pitched voice, "Troy! Mullet! Moran! …"

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The End!

**QUICK MEMO! **So, if you haven't yet heard, I have some new information regarding the continuation of my ongoing stories like The Gathering, Did it Hurt, and Most Beautiful Sound. Please go see my profile for more info!

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please review!


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